


The Sketchbook

by thecountessolivia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cuddling, Florence - Freeform, Fluff, Hannibal the Fan Artist, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: A short follow-up to @emungere's"teen hannibal ficlets". Because I couldn't get enough.Written with kind permission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [teen hannibal ficlets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445424) by [emungere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere). 



> I desperately needed more of this exquisite AU. @emungere kindly allowed me to write a little continuation.

After breakfast, they go back to bed. No newspaper this time, no coffee, just Hannibal's mouth dabbing Will's face and neck with ceaseless kisses, sugar-soft and sticky. As if, were he to stop, he'd never get permission again.

"It's okay," Will murmurs one more time, for good measure, sleepy and reassuring. He holds Hannibal close and soon drifts and dozes.

When he wakes, warm and loose in the late morning light, Hannibal has slipped from his arms. Will finds him standing at the foot of the bed. Shirtless, sun-soaked, hair fallen across his forehead, he watches Will with a silent intensity. Will has to close his eyes for a moment and breathe past the sensation that he's dreaming. When he looks again, Hannibal has shed his pajama bottoms. His cock is half hard.

Even now, some small part of Will tries to deny this and turn away. The rest of him stares and drinks Hannibal in, straight from a well of want that's been buried beneath denial and guilt for years.

"I'd like to be sure—" Hannibal begins then frowns, fingers flexing at his sides.

"Come here," Will says and it comes out rough. He strips himself bare beneath the sheets, then throws them back. He reaches for Hannibal, takes him by the wrist, pulls him down. He brings their bodies close again, a breath apart, and settles Hannibal's palm on his hip. "See? Look. I want you."

Hannibal looks down the line of their bodies. His lips are parted and his chest is rising and falling in a flutter. There is a smattering of soft hair there now — Will can barely accept it, much like the faint stubble on Hannibal's cheek.

"I haven't touched you yet."

"Touch me then."

Hannibal's fingers press hard against Will's hipbone, then slide down and hesitate.

"Earlier— I was crude, wasn't I?"

Will leans in and kisses him, deep and soft.

"Nobody's first time is perfect." He nips at Hannibal's lower lip, kisses his eyelids, the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "We'll practice. Together."

Will hears his old voice when he speaks: the guardian's intonation of encouragement and comfort. It sounds both right and alien, somehow treacherous. They're both rudderless in this, adrift. 

Hannibal touches him at last, tentative fingers wrapping about the shaft of Will's cock. The strokes are slow and, yes, boy-rough and without finesse. It's this that has Will panting in seconds, forehead pressed against Hannibal's. 

"When I said I imagined this —" Hannibal whispers, breathless now and flushed. "Did you?"

Will is letting it all go again. He's mouthing the line of Hannibal's jaw, leaving little bites there, breathing him in. He's pushing and pushing into Hannibal's touch until he's on top, hands either side of Hannibal's head and hips grinding down hard. He still cannot bring himself to lie. 

"I didn't. I couldn't. Or at least — I tried so hard not to." 

Hannibal squirms beneath him, seeks out Will's eyes, the way he used to. Insistent, until all Will can do is face him: the reality and beauty of him. 

"But you waited for me. As I've waited for you."

"I waited."

"You hoped."

"I hoped."


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere inside that morning, Will's heart begins to ache with a sense of familiarity: Hannibal spooned up in his arms, held close and secure. But this time there is bare skin, and damp tangled sheets that smell of sex, and Will's cock clasped between Hannibal's thighs as they rock slowly together.

It's Will who's trying to temper their pace. He tries to draw it out, hoping to strip away the veil of unreality that cocoons them. He can't. Not with Hannibal moving feverishly on him, not with little gasps of "Is it good?" in Will's ear.

It's _right_ , Will wants to reply. His hand tightens on Hannibal's cock, slick with the lube Hannibal had earlier timidly produced from the nightstand. He shuts his eyes against the nape of Hannibal's neck. When he feels the rush of heat spill over his fingers and the high moans that come with it, he can't hold on and shudders through another orgasm. The pleasure crests and crests inside him, then ebbs into the still and quiet morning.

Another quick clean-up. Shower can wait. Hannibal settles on the edge of the bed and Will is cloaked in his shadow. He's calmer this time, with a small content smile and a soft gleam in his eyes. The ache returns when Will looks at him. He reaches up to smooth the unruly mess of Hannibal's hair. He moves his fingertips over the wide sweep of Hannibal's collarbone, the curve of his shoulder.

"Tell me you've stopped growing. I don't think I can handle you getting any bigger."

"Physically, some time ago. But I believe I'll continue to grow in different ways now. Now that we're together." Will hears the pride and the promise in Hannibal's tone. He allows himself to hope.

Hannibal smiles and drops his gaze. Will feels it move over his body. He almost forgot he's sprawled naked in Hannibal's bed and wants to laugh at how strange and easy it feels.

"Could we — once more? Later today?" Hannibal asks quietly. He puts his hand awkwardly on Will's thigh.

Will does laugh then, weakly. He can barely move. He feels very much his age. "Hannibal—"

The fervent look returns for a moment and Hannibal is clasping Will's hand in both of his.

"You must not spare me any... acts." The pink rushes back into Hannibal's cheeks. "I want to try everything with you, Will. I don't want anything between us."

"We'll do anything you want," Will says, and means it. "We've got time. Okay?"

Hannibal looks hesitant. "In that case I was hoping you might allow something else altogether." He reaches for a drawer in the nightstand and takes out a leather-bound notebook. "I'd like to draw you. To remember today for as long as I live."

Will remembers Hannibal sketching once in a while in high school. He didn't think he'd kept it up beyond the few drawings he'd been sent with Hannibal's letters.

"How come you didn't show me before? Let me see."

"I didn't believe my efforts were adequate enough to warrant—"

"Come on. I bet they're great."

They are. Of course they are. The first page greets Will with exquisitely rendered details from the facade and courtyard of the convent of San Marco. They'd visited last week and spent hours looking at the frescoes.

Scenes from around the city follow. There are some faces, too: the wrinkled cheeks and headscarf of the fishmonger woman from the market, the bristly moustache and rotting teeth of a homeless drunk. Will touches his fingertips lightly to each drawing, awed and proud.

On the next few pages Will finds himself: in quarter profile, scowling, a detailed sketch of a smile. A scene from their camping trip, years ago now. He doesn't recognise any of the images from photographs - they must have all come from Hannibal's memory. With the next page he turns, Will feels Hannibal shift nervously beside him. He sees why. "My imagination could only carry me so far," Hannibal says and swallows visibly. His blush deepens so much that Will can't help a grin. "At least it seems my— anatomical estimates were accurate."

Will looks up at him. His heart still aches with the love he feels.

"They're all beautiful." He leans in for a soft kiss, lets it linger. "Like you."

He turns back to the sketchbook. The next few pages are copies of paintings they've seen in the Uffizi. Tender-faced Madonnas and Venuses re-rendered faithfully, but always with some twist from Hannibal's imagination, some mark of raw, real life amidst the divine. In one sketch Will recognises himself again: a Saint Sebastian bound to a tree, delicate ribbons of blood spooling from where the arrows went in. Will laughs.

"A martyr? Really?"

"A simplistic metaphor. For all the sacrifices you made for my sake."

"Nothing I did for you felt like a sacrifice. I would have done more. Should have done more."

Hannibal snuggles up against him, soft and reassuring: _you did enough_.

Will turns the page and studies the next drawing. He remembers the painting well, the righteous violence in its shadows. In Hannibal's version, Judith has been turned into a young man. Her sword is still sharp and bloody. And Holofernes' face — Will isn't sure. He's certain it's different from the one in the painting. He thinks he may have seen it before. Maybe on a street in Florence, in a drunken crowd...

It's probably all in his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Il Sodoma's St Sebastian  
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/05/Sodoma_-_St_Sebastian_-_WGA21550.jpg
> 
> Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith and Holofernes  
> http://www.uffizi.org/artworks/judith-and-holofernes-by-artemisia-gentileschi/
> 
> Both in the Uffizi.


End file.
